


Heart Safety-Pinned to his Backpack

by Theboys



Series: Dear God, It's Me, Dean [24]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha Sam, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha/Omega, Angry Sam, Bottom Dean, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Omega Dean, POV Dean, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sam Winchester, Protective Sam Winchester, Scared Dean, Scared Sam, Sick Dean, Top Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-01
Updated: 2015-08-01
Packaged: 2018-04-12 11:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4477391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theboys/pseuds/Theboys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jesus, this is gonna kill him, nevermind hellhounds.</p><p>In which Dean is making some idiotic decisions, and Sam's got to set him straight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heart Safety-Pinned to his Backpack

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Bird and The Worm, by The Used.

Dean’s at an Omega Clinic.

Dean’s alone at an Omega Clinic.

He shuffles his feet against the linoleum underneath him, diamond shaped patterns in the floor, some are white, some are a dull pink color, and the remaining ones are a cross between navy and sky blue. His hands are clasped tightly in front of him, skeleton white, soft half moon indentations lingering on his skin.

Sammy’s in town with Bobby, they went to get groceries, and Dean wasn’t allowed to come with. Small omega growl tumbles its way out of his throat, and he glances around in apprehension. Doesn’t know what to do in these places. Mom hadn’t survived long enough to teach him, and he’s basically been raised an Alpha. There’s nothing remotely sweet about him.

It’s pretty-soft Omega scent in here, berries and light summer rains, pumpkins and candles. Dean fidgets in his seat and tugs Sam’s coat closer around his body. He’s always fucking cold these days.

He wants Sam there.

Wants him to answer all the damn questions and fill out the paperwork, and generally do everything Dean’s been too tired to do lately. Dean’ll even let Sam hold him, which seems to be numbers one, two, and three on his list of favorite things to do.

Dean’s lost weight, looks more like he did at twenty, then he should at 29. He’s got a small frame, tiny waist, and well-defined abs, thanks to his less than stellar diet, and his daily workout regimen. His abdomen is making way for his pups now, and he’s three months along. He knows, well enough, that he’s halfway through his pregnancy, but he’s not terribly sure he’ll see the other half.

He attempts to smother the fear-scent he can feel himself emitting, doesn’t want to frighten the other mothers and fathers with the smell of mold and neglect. He whimpers, tiny sound in his throat, he’s so sick and tired of feeling nauseous, and he can feel how weak his kids are, struggling to retain any food they’re given.

Sam’s good about making sure he eats (forcing), but Dean’s equally as proficient at making sure Sam’s out of the house when he vomits it all back into the toilet, small dry heaves making his children restless with distress. He’s especially worried about Lilac, sometimes he can barely scent the flowery smell beneath that of Maple.

Small tears trickle down his cheeks then, and he grinds his teeth together, forceful pressure, anvil falling from a cartoon sky. He can’t have a conversation with people if he’s unable to keep from fucking bawling everywhere.

“Dean Winchester?”

Stands up at the mention of his name, grabs hold of the plastic seat he’d been sitting on as he sways in place, dark spots twirling in front of his vision. He can hear the nurse asking if he’s alright, soothing voice, lemon-honey scent of concern, but it’s so hard to stand and his knees are too close to buckling.

He smells Alpha-scent then, foreign. Doctor, probably. The man smiles down at him kindly, almost Sam’s height, and Dean shudders painfully, presses cold palms to his stomach. “I think I’d better check you out sooner than later, Mr. Winchester.” His arm is very stable against Dean, and Dean nods gratefully.

Jesus, this is gonna kill him, nevermind hellhounds.

He’s shuffling, arm in arm with the Doctor when he’s assailed by clean forest and bark,

Sammy’s scent.

Dean hasn’t got the strength left to groan in objection, but his omega is purring contentedly, mocking Dean’s displeasure. It’s not that he doesn’t want his mate with him, but he already knows Sam is going to be over-worried. Damn mother-hen.

Sam’s snarl rips through the waiting room, and all the Omegas in the vicinity avert their gaze, ingrained submission to a clearly powerful Alpha. The doctor smoothly dislodges Dean’s grip and steps away, hands turned upward in a placating gesture. Sam snarls intermittently, until he’s at Dean’s side.

He takes one cursory look at Dean and hoists him into his arms, bridal style, holds him with one hand, using the other to press his cold cheeks into Sam’s flushed neck. Dean inhales, against his will, focuses on the steady thump of Sam’s racing heart. He’s frightened. The smell is mostly covered with rage-scent, fire and brimstone, but Dean can smell the terror, all the same.

Sam presses a kiss into his hair, speaks softly against Dean’s skin, voice low but warm. “We’ll talk about whatever the fuck you thought this was, later.” It’s Alpha-threat, and Dean cringes automatically, but Sam hushes him and continues sending out peaceful pheromones. He’s almost asleep when he shakes himself, because he can hear Sam talking.

“Is anything wrong with him, Doctor--” Sam trails off, and he feels Sam loosen a hand from his head to shake the Doctor’s hand.

“Dr. Lee.”

“So what’s the issue here, Dr. Lee?” Dean peeks out of almost closed eyes to see his doctor wearing a strained look on his face. “I’m not sure. Your husband looks very weak. I haven’t ran any tests, yet, which I was about to do when you arrived, but I’m glad you’re here. Omegas tend to do well with their Alpha present during this time period, and Mr. Winchester is already looking much better.”

Sam pulls him tighter, soft kiss to his temple.

“Jesus. He’s--Dr. Lee, he’s gotten so small, lately. I don’t know what to do, I’ve been trying to make sure he eats, but, he’s so damn tired all the time.” Dean tightens his hold on Sammy’s neck, scent-marks him gently, kitten licks against his skin. He’ll be stubborn later. Sam sounds twice as broken as him.

“Sometimes he can barely walk across the room.” Dr. Lee guides Sam, by the small of his back, into the clinician’s examination space, shutting the door behind him with a squeak. “I’m going to need to do some bloodwork on your Omega, Mr. Winchester, and then I will need a urine sample. I have an idea of what it might be, and if my conclusions are proven correct, I’ll need to provide you with a detailed plan of care.”

Dean can feel Sam nodding, chocolate brown hair tickling his forehead.

“Dean,” Sam whispers, and Dean sits up, dizzy spell hitting him once more. He mewls in distress, seeks Sammy’s neck out again, and he hears Sam’s pained groan.

“Ah, baby, I’m so sorry. Baby, you gotta sit up. You can sit on my lap, okay?”

Dean scours himself for a fuck to give about the indisputable fact that he’s clinging to Sam like a monkey, scenting him and generally acting like a weak-willed bitch, but he’s fucking sick and nothing but Sam makes him feel even halfway decent. So he’ll suck it up, for now.

Dean nods listlessly, allows Sam to manhandle him into a forward facing position, which he does with ease, and Sam uses his chest to keep Dean’s head upright and facing the doctor.

“Dean, I’m extremely sorry that you’re in so much pain right now. I’m trying to figure out why, but I’m going to have to run some tests. Is that alright with you?” Dean hums in his throat, head becoming too heavy to respond.

“Mr. Winchester,” Dr. Lee glances up at Sam as he tugs on latex gloves. “I’ll need you to be my witness, when I fill out the necessary paperwork, that your husband accepted and complied with the testing.” He says. Sam nods, holding Dean at the waist tightly.

Dr. Lee looks as if he’s going to ask Dean something, and Dean whines slowly. “Please, Doc, if you could ask Sammy, that’d be great, cause, I feel like shit right now.” The Doctor smiles at him, genuine amusement, and Dean can hear Alpha laughter rumbling in Sam’s chest. “Mr. Winchester, could you hold out your husband’s arm so that I can get this sample?”

Sam curves his hand over Dean’s thinner one, avoiding the crease of his elbow where the doctor will indubitably seek out a vein. Dean can hear Sammy murmuring to him, and he angles his neck so he can better make out the words.

“It’s gonna be fine, sweetheart. I promised I’d take care of you and our pups, right?” Dean nods, even though he knows Dr. Lee can’t hear anything, is probably a bit taken aback. Dean feels the slight prick of the needle, tremors at the sting, can’t understand why, when he’s had broken bones from angry spirits, and hasn’t even winced.

Dr. Lee grins. “That’ll probably already be healed by the time we check it again, alright?” Sam smiles down at Dean. “Okay, Dr. Lee, what do you need next?” Doc smiles, rising from his chair to seal and package the test tube containing Dean’s blood. He peels his gloves off, one inside out in the other, and deposits them in a biohazard bag.

Dean snorts at the sight. The medical community would have a collective heart attack if they saw how Sam and Dean routinely handled their potential bloodborne pathogens.

“I need a urine sample, and then we’re about done for the day. I’ll schedule an appointment for when I’ll have the results returned.” Sam hums in his throat. “Thank you so much, Dr. Lee. I’ll make sure Dean and I are both here, next time.” Dean tries to hiss at Sam, but he’s sure that comes out as a whimper too, like the rest of his butchered vocabulary.

“I’ll take him to the bathroom--is that one, right there?” Dean turns his head brittle and soft, to see the door on the far side of the room. Dr. Lee nods. “Yes, we have it, just for this purpose.” Sam stands, Dean once again enthroned in his arms, and Dean makes his first noise of protest of the day.

“You can’t walk, Dean. I’m not gonna let you fall and hurt yourself and the pups, just cause you wanna play big dog.”

Dean hunches in on himself, appropriately chastised. Sam doesn’t usually control him, lets him do what he pleases when he desires, but Sam is an Alpha. Dean thinks it’s at the point where he’d better get used to it. Sam is an Alpha, and more importantly, his Alpha-mate, and he’s going to be possessive and domineering.

That’s just how it is.

Sam sits Dean on the toilet, as he closes the door, and his face crumples, just like that. “Dean. Dean. When you weren’t there, when Bobby and I came back and I couldn’t find you, I thought you--Jesus Christ, Dean, I thought you left me, were too damned angry about what I’ve--what I’ve been doing.”

Dean tilts up his own face, reaches lead-heavy arms to Sam’s stained cheeks.

“Fuck. Fuck, baby, M’sorry. I wouldn’t. Jesus Sammy, you’re a damn idiot if you think I’d ever leave your sorry ass. It’s always been you.”

Sam swipes at his nose, collects himself, tugs Alpha timbre back into his voice. “Just pee so we can go home. I don’t want you outta my sight.”

Dean allows Sam to keep a firm grip on his waist as he stands on baby-lamb legs to pee in the small cup Sam holds in front of him, offering style. Sam caps it, tucks it in his front shirt pocket and lifts Dean again.

He only sighs, this time, drained to the max, even though he’s done nothing, all day.

Dr. Lee is pointy teeth and knowing eyes, can probably smell Dean’s sorry-scent, rose and thorns, all the way across the room. “I’ll have you fill everything out at the front desk, alright?” Sam hands the doctor the sample, sheepishly. “Thank you, Dr. Lee.”

Dr. Lee smiles down at Dean, peering into leaden eyes. “You listen to your Alpha, until our next appointment, you understand?”

Dean snorts under his breath.

Now there’s an idea.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> The pups have me remotely stressed, right now.


End file.
